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  “Bitch,” she spat. She knew that had to be his girl, but then again it was hard to say. Satin had seen the girl in a few spots, keeping company with several different guys. The thought of the girl already having him and being stupid enough to cheat on his fine ass only made Satin want him more.

  She didn’t reveal any of this when they finally met in the halls of BMCC because she wanted to play hard to get, especially knowing that he was involved with someone. She still didn’t know why she had initiated contact with the gangster, maybe it was to see how far he was willing to go or how far she was willing to go, it was still unclear. The one thing that she was certain of was that she was feeling Lou-Loc and intended to see him again. She might’ve been wrong for trying to get involved with someone who already had someone but life was too short to let opportunities pass you by when they presented themselves. Wrong or not Satin was a girl of ambition and when she wanted something it was in her nature to go after it.

  *

  Satin parked her car on in front of her apartment building on East 7th street and killed the engine. As she was stepping out of her jeep, a long red Cadillac pulled up to her passenger side. The windows were tinted, so she couldn’t see who was in it. She closed the jeep door with one hand and let other slip into the purse, where she kept her .22. Growing up in the projects she learned to shoot first and ask questions later. If it was going to pop off, she would be ready.

  The driver’s side window slid halfway down and revealed a hulking head, wearing dark sunglasses. He smiled at Satin, revealing a mouthful of stained yellow teeth. “Long time, Satin,” the giant aka Rico Runez greeted her.

  “What are you doing here, Rico? I thought I made it clear to Cisco that his advances were in vein.”

  “Easy, mami, it ain’t like that. I brought someone here to see you.”

  “I doubt that there’s anyone you know that I’d want to see.”

  “Oh, but I beg to differ,” he said grinning, “I think you’ll be quite pleased to see who has come to call on you.”

  As if on cue, El Diablo stepped climbed out of the back of the Cadillac. “Hello, Satin.”

  Satin stood there with a shocked expression on her face. It had been years since she had last seen her brother and wasn’t sure how she felt about him popping up on her unexpectedly. “Hello, Michael, or do you prefer El Diablo?” She asked venomously.

  El Diablo dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand. “That is merely a name given to me by some of my associates, nothing more. So how have you been little sister?”

  “Fine, not that you care. How many years has it been since you left us high and dry?”

  “Aye,” he threw up his hands in mock surrender, “why so cold, Satin? You know I didn’t have a choice. Besides, were you not taken care of in my absence?”

  “Taken care of? If you call sending your yes man Cisco here with money, and trying to get in my pants taken care of, yes, I was fine.”

  “My apologies, Satin. Cisco can be a bit. vulgar, but I will see that he is reprimanded for his actions. But financially, you and the family were good?”

  “Yea.” she said flatly. “But Auntie Selina hasn’t been in the best of shape. She’s at Saint Vincent’s. You been to see her?”

  “No.” he said sadly. “I feared that I would not be welcomed. Your warm reception has confirmed that. I won’t take up your time, Satin. I just wanted to see you, and to let you know I’m home. If you should need something you have but to call on me and if you don’t want to see me I can send Cisco.”

  “That’s a fucking joke right? Cisco is a piece of shit, who cares about no one but himself. You told him to treat me like a sister; instead he tried to treat me like a whore, showering me with gifts to gain my affection. No amount of money would ever get me into his bed.”

  “As I said earlier, Cisco well be dealt with, but let’s move on to another topic. How is our brother, Jesus? What’s he been up to?”

  “In and out of trouble.” she said. “I don’t blame him, considering his role model is a kingpin.”

  “Satin, I never meant for things to turn out this way. I only wanted to make things better for our family. Is that so wrong?”

  Satin massaged the back of her neck as she looked into his sorrow filled eyes. She knew that he meant well, but his methods were all wrong. “Michael,” she said, taking his hand in hers, “I’m a big girl now. I appreciate all that you’ve done for me and our family, but I don’t need a keeper anymore. You on the other hand could use a little guidance. Why don’t you find yourself a nice girl to settle down with and stop playing in these streets?”

  “I have many women, but it is the streets that have my heart,” he smiled.

  Satin shook her head. “You know what I meant. Look, if you want to make me happy why don’t you come with us to church, Sunday? It’d be nice to have the family attend service together like the old days.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot, little one,” El Diablo said sadly. “I fear I am no longer welcomed in the house of worship.” El Diablo pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and wrote an address down. “This is where I’ll be staying,” he said handing Satin the paper, “if you need anything, you can reach me there. It was good to see you, little one.” El Diablo turned to walk away with his head hung low.

  Seeing the sadness in her brother her Satin’s conscious began to eat away at her. Michael was a gangster and though she didn’t approve of how he lived they were still family. “Michael,” she called after him. When he turned around Satin threw herself into his arms and gave him a warm hug. “You’re an asshole, but you’re still my big brother. Welcome home.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Lou-Loc and Gutter strolled in silence down Church Avenue in Brooklyn on their way to meet Rock and his boss Anwar, boss of the Al Mukalla Crime Family. Lou-Loc had met Roc once or twice in the past, but he didn’t really know much about him. No one did. All Lou-Loc really knew, is that Roc was the under boss of the Al Mukalla, and Anwar ran the operation. The Al Mukalla was a gang of Middle Easterners who operated out of Brooklyn and had their hands in everything from gambling to gun trafficking. They turned a profit from all sorts of vices, but their main source of income was heroin. Anwar and his men ruled their little corner of the city with an iron fist. Although they were few in number, they more than made up for it in viciousness. Each member of the organization was ready to die for what they believed in.

  Gutter had gotten connected to Roc during a visit to At Taif, where there two families had properties in the same province. Their grandparents had been a part of the same regiment so they had that in common as well as their fascination with the streets. Gutter returned to the states while Roc remained in At Taif, but they they’d kept in contact and when Roc came to America they promised to hook up and do some business. After a few months of going back and forth about it, Roc finally agreed to introduce Gutter to Anwar. The Al Mukalla was very suspicious of outsiders, especially Americans. The only reason Anwar even agreed to meet with Gutter is because he was a Muslim.

  Gutter tapped Lou-Loc’s arm, snapping him out of his daze. “There it is cuz,” he pointed to a shabby looking corner market.

  Lou-Loc looked at the place skeptically. “Ain’t much to look at.”

  “Looks can be deceiving,” Gutter told him and led the way inside. They spotted Roc behind the counter handing a little girl a pack of Skittles and her change. Roc noticed Gutter and greeted him with a nod and a smile.

  Roc was a jovial looking man, standing around five eight and sporting a buzz cut. With his stained smock and potbelly he looked more like the shopkeeper he was masquerading as than the killer he was. His hands were his favorite killing devices and the reason for his nickname. It was said that he could crush the bones in a man’s neck to powder with the lethal devices.

  At the end of the line were three young men waiting to pay for their 40oz’s. All three of the young men were wearing red scarves and staring daggers at Gutter, who was sporting blue band
anas on each wrist. “Punk ass crabs,” one of the boys mumbled.

  “What you say, nigga?” Gutter stepped forward. Sensing that violence was about to erupt, the customers abandoned their purchases and made for the door.

  “You heard him, motherfucker,” another boy added. “You in the wrong neighborhood to be rocking all that blue.”

  Lou-Loc snorted. “I don’t give a fuck what hood we in. My advice to you is, pay for ya mutha fucking beer, and beat street. We ain’t starting this shit, but we sure as hell can finish it. What’s up, cuz?” Lou-Loc put a southern twang on the last word just to irk the east coast hoodlums.

  The first boy, whom Lou-Loc assumed to be the leader of the group, hesitated. When Lou-Loc noticed his hesitance he knew that he had the boy’s heart which meant the fight was halfway over before it started, but his partner had balls. From under his sweatshirt, the boy produced a small .22. He was quick, but Lou-Loc was quicker. By the time the boy raised his gun; Lou-Loc had closed the distance between them, and had the barrel of his 9mm to the boy’s chest.

  Lou-Loc smiled and leaned in so he and the boy were nose to nose. “You wasn’t trying to draw on me, was you boy?” Lou-Loc whispered. The boy saw the savage look in Lou-Loc’s eyes and suddenly didn’t feel so tough. Before anyone else could react, there was a loud click, and the room went still. Everyone turned to see what the noise was, and were completely thrown off by what they saw.

  Standing between isles two and three, stood a little boy. He was skinny, but not too much so. He was somewhere between frail and recently malnourished. He wore camouflage fatigue pants and a plain tank top. In his hands he held a large machine gun.

  “Please,” said Roc stepping from behind the counter, “neither violence nor weapons are permitted here. I would urge you to take heed to the laws of the Al Mukalla.” He said something in Arabic to the boy with the gun. In response to whatever the command was, the boy pulled a burlap sack from one of the shelves and stepped forward. “Place your guns in the sack, gentlemen,” Roc ordered. The boy’s knew Roc and knew he wouldn’t ask twice so reluctantly they complied.

  “This is some bullshit.” One of the boys spat, dropping his gun in the sack.

  “Hey, hey, don’t tell me what’s bullshit!” Roc barked. “Everyone in the neighborhood knows Anwar’s rules about guns in his place, so be glad I’m just disarming you instead of dismantling you. Now if you think you can keep yourselves from causing any more trouble I’ll return the guns to you later on.

  “Come on, Roc, you know us,” one of the boys whined.

  “Yes, which is why I’m having Hassan take your guns instead of your lives. Now do as I say and go.” The boys lowered their heads and slunk out of the store.

  “What was that shit about, Roc?” Gutter asked.

  “Nothing for you to worry about, Kenyatta. We have an understanding with the locals about keeping the peace and anything less is unacceptable, no matter what personal conflicts exist between your two factions. Let me show you something.” Roc led them to the store window and pointed across the street to a playground. “That is Al Mukalla Park, founded and built by us. Even though we built it, the park is open to all children. It is a safe haven where parents don’t have to fear for their children. We patrol it constantly and it’s covered from all angles by video cameras. In that park, no one is allowed to sell or use drugs. The penalty for violating the rule is death. The children are the future of us all, so we must ensure that they grow to fruition.”

  “That’s deep.” Lou-Loc commented.

  “That’s Mukalla.” Roc responded. “We are about the betterment of our people as well as those in our community. Allah has been good to us, and it is only fair that we spread the love to those around us.”

  “I can respect your gangster, Roc.” Lou-Loc said.

  “And I yours.” Roc responded.

  “So what’s good, Roc?” Gutter interrupted. “I been looking forward to this gathering for some time now. I’m ready to do the damn thing.”

  “Easy, Gutter,” Roc said patting his shoulder. “Anwar is waiting for us in his war room. Before we go to join him, I would ask you also to remove your weapons.”

  “What’s all this shit about?” Lou-Loc asked looking at Gutter. “After what just went down, I’m keeping my strap right the fuck here.”

  Roc and Lou-Loc stared each other down for a moment. Neither men wanted to give ground, but this meeting was in both their best interest. Roc finally broke the silence.

  “No disrespect to you,” he said looking Lou-Loc square in the eye, “but it is the policy of our war room. It keeps negotiations from becoming unpleasant.”

  “Come on, Loc. We straight in here so lets go along with the program,” Gutter dropped his guns in the sack. Lou-Loc didn’t like it, but he did as his friend asked.

  “Thank you,” Roc said with a smile. “Now if you will please follow me. Anwar is waiting.” Roc instructed Hassan to put the confiscated weapons into the safe and run the register while he escorted the two guests to the war room.

  Lou-Loc and Gutter followed Roc through the isles and into the store room in the back. The small area was cluttered with boxes of supplies and file cabinets. There was a large meat freezer that stretched along the entire back wall. Roc turned the knob, and the massive door slid open with a loud hiss. “This way, gentlemen.”

  Lou-Loc looked at Gutter puzzled, and then turned his attention to Roc. “You want us to go into a freezer?”

  “You Americans are so distrustful.” Roc said with a chuckle. “This is the way to the war room. Once you step inside, you’ll understand.”

  Gutter and Lou-Loc stepped into the freezer cautiously, with Roc bringing up the rear. Lou-Loc had an odd feeling about the whole situation. Once all three were inside, the massive door slammed, and the freezer went dark. “Shit,” Lou-Loc cursed and pressed his back to the wall, fearing they were being set up. Several infrared beams of light passed over them and then disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared. The freezer rumbled and began descending.

  “Hope that didn’t unnerve you too much. The lights were sweeping you for concealed weapons.” Rock explained.

  “You boys sure are paranoid,” Lou-Loc retorted with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

  “Afraid we must be.” Roc said while unlocking another door, that Lou-Loc was sure wasn’t there when the entered the freezer. “People these days aren’t always honorable. Paranoia will help me to live a very long life.”

  The three men left the freezer/elevator and found themselves in an underground passage. It was a long corridor that appeared to not have been used in sometime. The walls were crusted with mold and filth. The tiny holes in them showed signs that a gun fight had transpired at some point.

  “Must’ve been quite a gun fight down here?” Lou-Loc whispered to Gutter as he examined the holes. Upon closer inspection he noticed that some of the holes were glassed over like camera lenses. When he turned to rejoin the group, he noticed Roc watching him. Lou-Loc was tempted to ask about the holes but he didn’t. And Roc didn’t volunteer the information.

  At the end of the corridor there stood an iron door. Along the edge of the door, there was something scribbled in Arabic. Lou-Loc couldn’t translate the words, but they seemed to mean something to Gutter.

  “This is Anwar’s war room,” Roc said motioning towards the door, “while you gentlemen remove your shoes, I will notify him that you’re here.” Without waiting for a response, he disappeared behind the door, leaving Lou-Loc and Gutter in the hall alone.

  Once Lou-Loc was sure Roc was out of ear shot, he decided to ask Gutter about the writing. “Say, Gutter,” he said tapping his friends arm, “what’s that writing all about? What that shit mean, cuz?”

  Gutter looked at his friend and smiled. “Well, the first part says: ‘Justice for the sons and daughters of Allah.’ The second part says: ‘Death to the Almighty Devil.’”

  Lou-Loc looked at Gutter confused. “Who or what is the Almi
ghty Devil?”

  “America.” Gutter said flatly.

  A moment later, Roc came into the hallway and summoned them inside. As the two men entered the room, they were quite surprised by what they saw. Unlike the filthy corridor, the room was quite plush. The floors were carpeted from wall to wall, with a high arched ceiling. The interior of the room was soundproofed and completely without windows. The only light, other than the few scattered candles, was given off by a vast network of monitors on the back wall.

  There wasn’t much in the way of furniture either. There was a white leather sofa that took up most of the wall to the left of the monitors. In another section of the room, there was a conference table surrounded by seven chairs. In the center of the room sat an oak desk directly in front of the monitors. Even though it was draped in shadows, Lou-Loc could tell that someone was sitting behind the desk watching them.

  “Please step in.” said a voice in clipped English. “Step in and be seated. You are amongst friends here.”

  Lou-Loc and Gutter moved cautiously across the carpeted floor, and took up seats on the couch. As Lou-Loc sniffed the air, he could smell a familiar aroma through the scented candles. It was the smell of death, old death. Lou-Loc tried to recall where he had smelled it before and when it hit him he gasped. He narrowed his eyes and scanned the shadows, but saw nothing.

  A figure stepped from behind the desk, snapping Lou-Loc from his thoughts. As the figure came into the light, his features became clear to them. He had long black hair that was braided into a pony tail, and tied off with a golden ribbon. His olive toned face was smooth and bare, much like Lou-Loc’s. The garments he wore were simple. Green army fatigues and a black turtle neck.